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“It’s been quite a while, doesn’t it, Captain?”
Capitano blinked his eyes open. The first thing he recognizes was the familiar hum of the Night Kingdom; the melodious melody the Lord of the Night sings, placating and comforting all the souls residing within the pocket Ley Line unique to Natlan. The second thing he recognized was stillness; he was standing within a vast expanse of white, suspended in a state where he was both floating and standing, weightless and anchored at the same time.
Ever since he was released from the mortal coil the moment he merged with the Lord of the Night, Capitano had never truly regained his consciousness. Yohualtecuhtin had warned him of this outcome: that merging with a divine existence, an Angel, would inevitably erode his sense of self. His memories were fragmented, hazy at best. What remained came only in fleeting visions; fallen comrades, friends and soldiers long lost, finally at rest. Their souls were finally unburdened and at peace.
The third thing he recognized—
Was the familiar voice of someone who should not be here at all.
“…Dottore.”
The man in front of him was, without doubt, his colleague in the Fatui; the Second Harbinger, Il Dottore.
The same pale blue hair. The same beak-shaped mask. The same absurdly eccentric uniform, minus the heavy fur coat. The same easy smile, the same relaxed posture with his hands folded behind his back, the same confidence and arrogance radiating from every movement. It was Dottore—not in the flesh, Capitano deduced, but unmistakably Dottore all the same.
“Oh? You don’t sound all that surprised to see me. Am I becoming predictable?” the Doctor remarked casually, his voice light. Capitano distantly noted that this tone was similar to one of the more active Dottore Segments—the Omega-build.
“In the time we have spent working together, I learned one thing: when you set your sights on a goal, you pursue it to the very end.” Capitano answered with a short huff before motioning to the other harbingers, “Though I can’t be sure how long it has been, since there’s no concept of ‘time’ in this space, and considering you and your… unique experiment on yourself, I can’t rely on your appearance as any reference.”
It was the truth. Capitano had no sense of how much time had passed. It could have been months. Years. Another century entirely. But most of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers were not fully human, you could say. Capitano himself had once belonged to that category—beings whose lifespans and age far exceeded those of ordinary mortals.
Dottore let out a soft chuckle, “Fortunately for you, it hasn’t been a century yet. Not even a decade. Only a year has passed since your rather spectacular mockery against the Ruler of Death. A magnificent feat, truly. Impeccably executed, I must say.”
Mockery of the Ruler of Death. That was certainly one way to describe it.
Capitano would have called it vengeance. Dottore —especially his younger Segments— would likely favor a cruder phrase, something along the lines of ‘giving Celestia the middle finger’. Not that the description was inaccurate. Still, Capitano preferred a more dignified term, if possible.
“I would say you are one of the first among our peers to truly reach their goal. Congratulations are in order,” Dottore said with the measured, stiff enthusiasm of a full-fledged diplomat—a quiet reminder that the Doctor was also one of the Tsaritsa’s most ruthless envoys, particularly when a segment of him was assigned diplomacy instead of research, excavation of ancient ruins, or abyssal studies.
The blue-haired Harbinger studied Capitano for a few seconds before voicing his curiosity. “What does it feel like, if I may ask? To finally reach the end you have been striving toward all this time?”
Capitano let out a weary sigh, which was strange, considering he should no longer be capable of feeling fatigue as a Ley Line anchor. “I see you are still as intrusive into other people’s affairs as ever.”
“I prefer the term researching, if you don’t mind. Scholars are, first and foremost, a nosey and inquisitive bunch.”
Right. Scholar and all of that. Another sigh almost escaped the First Harbinger before he indulged the question of the other man. Capitano contemplated how to properly articulate what he felt.
“…It’s peaceful,” he said at last.
A sharp click of Dottore’s tongue followed, a frown creasing his face. “That’s it? No sense of fulfilment? No joy? No greed or desire for more?”
Capitano lowered his gaze to his palm. He could still remember the fury and adrenaline flooding his veins when he raised his blade toward the crimson eyes in the sky, toward the bleeding tear in the heavens themselves.
But the moment Ronova chose to uphold the law of immortality and allowed him to merge with the Lord of the Night, that anger was snuffed out instantly, scattered like ash by a single breath of wind—no more than a tiny wisp of fire that had burned on spite alone, before it, too, was extinguished.
“I was tired for a long time,” the Captain admitted, then shook his head faintly. “No… I was angry for a long time. When I raised my blade against the Ruler of Death—the source of all my torment—and when I merged my existence with the Lord of the Night… all I felt was a gentle breeze. A quiet welcome from the souls.”
He paused.
“And calm.”
At that, Dottore finally relented. He offered Capitano a smile tinged with something like pity. “People say seeking revenge is seeking emptiness. That fulfilling vengeance leaves only emptiness behind.” His tone softened, almost amused. “Quite poetic, isn’t it?”
“Anyway, we are digressing from the matter at hand—I do apologize for straying off topic.” Dottore made a dismissive gesture, as though physically shoving the previous conversation aside. “For your information, Her Majesty has not stripped you of your title. You remain the First Harbinger.”
Now that was a surprise.
Though all Fatui Harbingers had their own personal motives for joining the organization, they were united under the Tsaritsa’s banner by a shared willingness to act in her name. Some sought to exploit her vast resources. Dottore, the scientist and scholar standing before him, was the most blatant example. Some desired an arena vast enough to hone their strength against worthy foes, as was the case with the youngest Harbinger. And some were simply lost souls, offered purpose and a path toward an end they could not reach alone.
Capitano counted himself among the latter.
For one who had once been unmoored, Capitano clung to the identity of ‘the Captain’ as though it were bound directly to his artificial heart. In most cases, Capitano was far more ‘the Captain’ than he had ever been the sentinel knight, Thrain. He knew he was not alone in this; Rosalyne had shared a similar devotion to the self she had chosen, and even Dottore himself seemed far removed from the man once known as Zandik the Scholar. That name, too, had long since been discarded.
The former— but apparently not former—First Harbinger had fully prepared himself to accept whatever punishment awaited him for failing to seize the Pyro Gnosis, the mission assigned to him when he proposed to be the one setting his foot on the Nation of War. In truth, he had never planned to face the consequences. He had intended to sever his immortality curse—or, when that option fails, to merge his existence with the Lord of the Night. Either path would have ensured that Capitano ceased to exist altogether.
The future, therefore, had seemed irrelevant.
A small part of him that housed the remnant of a knight’s honor had felt a measure of shame. What he had done could, by a certain definition, be called running away. Yet Her Majesty had shown him consideration all the same, and so he had resigned himself to losing his title, to being stripped off from the ranks of the Harbingers.
Instead, that judgment had never come. To learn that the Tsaritsa still regarded him highly stirred something unexpected within Capitano’s hollow chest: a restrained sense of relief, laced with sentiment, and a quiet, solemn pride. It was an honor he had believed himself prepared to relinquish, only to realize now that he had never truly let it go.
That, however, raised a question. Several questions, if Capitano were to be honest, but one stood above the rest—
“Why are you here? Did something happen?” he asked at last. “Her Majesty should already in the known of my personal intent. I doubt she would summon me so soon.”
Even hidden behind the metal mask, Capitano could see the Doctor raise his eyebrow, smirking at the question.
“Why assume this is Her Majesty’s will? It could very well be my own doing, could it not? Studying the Ley Lines and the Irminsul had always been an interest of mine.”
A valid point. Yet Capitano knew Dottore well enough to hear the provocation beneath it. This was not a genuine question, but an invitation to argue. Dottore delighted in debate; his subordinates were perpetually subjected to scientific arguments and rhetorical traps designed to send their thoughts spiralling. To sharpen their logic, one of the Doctor’s segments had once claimed.
“I think you are overestimating your enigma, Dottore,” Capitano replied evenly. “As you said yourself, you have grown predictable, at least in your characteristics. You wouldn’t go through all this trouble merely for a conversation with me. Either this is a request from Her Majesty, or an order from the Jester which, by extension, still amounts to Her Majesty’s will.”
He did not need to elaborate further. Without invoking history or sentiment, Capitano knew enough that Dottore held high respect for both Pierro and the Tsaritsa. Especially Pierro. Whatever had transpired between the Director of the Fatui and the Doctor remained unknown, but if there was anyone in this vast world of Teyvat capable of issuing Dottore an order and having it obeyed, it was the Jester.
Dottore was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged, evidently unbothered. “I see no flaw in that assumption,” he said, sounding almost pleased.
The Doctor snapped his fingers. It was a familiar habit; one he indulged in before commencing an exciting experiment or when presenting a subject that particularly captivated him.
“Very well,” he began. “Her Majesty’s plan has progressed significantly. The weapon intended to tear down the veil of the Heavenly Principles is approximately eighty percent complete. Our logistics and armaments have been reviewed, and the readiness of the variable (the traveller) to oppose the Heavenly Principles has been verified. My experiment in Nod-Krai has concluded wonderfully. We have tested the limits of divinity itself.”
“We now possess full control over the primordial power of the Three Moons. All that remains is the acquisition of the Pyro Gnosis, and then, we will be prepared to raise the banner of war against the Heavens.”
That was… a great deal to take in.
Dottore had mentioned that only a year had passed since Capitano’s release from the mortal coil, yet even so, he had not expected the Tsaritsa’s plan to have advanced this far in such a short span of time. Not that the scheme itself was new—it had been in motion for years, with the Cataclysm serving as its true catalyst. The open collection of the Gnoses had only begun around five years ago, when Her Majesty judged her Harbingers and armies ready to act openly beneath the very gaze of the Heavenly Principles.
It was already miraculous that the Anemo, Geo, Electro, Dendro, and Hydro Gnoses had been secured in consecutive years. To learn that they now stood on the threshold of the final act was something else entirely.
“Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, has seen it fit to extend an invitation to you,” Dottore continued, his tone softening just slightly. “She is certain you would wish to partake in the banquet against the Heavens. The Jester is in agreement. Thus, Her Majesty has entrusted me with the task of delivering this invitation.”
A banquet against the Heavens.
The word alone sent a shudder down Capitano’s spine.
He was not holding his sword, yet the urge to draw it burned fiercely all the same. The thought of facing the envoys of the sky, the ones who had condemned countless innocent Khaenri’ahn souls to collective punishment, made his artificial heart thunder. Capitano clenched his fist, forcing the tremor down, and after a heavy exhale, answered with equal gravity.
“…I am already bound to Natlan’s Night Kingdom. Even if I wished to accept, I cannot leave.”
Instead of disappointment, the Doctor’s smirk only widened.
With deliberate slowness, Dottore raised his hand.
“And what if I told you… that I can get you out of this place?”
“…!”
“Ah, there it is, the expression I was waiting for. Though, to be fair, your decaying flesh condition makes it rather hard to read your face at all.”
Capitano had always known how crazy the self-proclaimed heretic scholar in front of him was, but to be able to achieve this kind of feat—
“I’m… I’m merely questioning how. I am fused with the Lord of the Night. My immortality is what sustains her and Natlan’s Ley Lines.”
“The answer lies precisely in what you just said, dear Captain.” A gloved finger was being pointed at the flabbergasted First Harbinger. “You are merged with the Lord of the Night, which means you are merged with the Ley Lines themselves.”
“I have achieved what others insist is impossible: infiltration of Irminsul. The Dendro Archon once accomplished something similar through the authority of the Dendro Gnosis; I merely… refined another method of my own. That is also why I can enter this realm. What you see before you is not my body, but my consciousness. Call it a construct of information drifting freely within the Ley Lines.”
When Capitano didn’t show any sign of following the explanation, Dottore paused, pursing his lips, and hummed thoughtfully.
“To simplify,” he continued, “I can manipulate the information stored within Irminsul. To extract you from this place, all I need to do is gather your scattered data within this space, separate your informational structure from that of the Lord of the Night, and reconstruct you in the material world. That reconstructed information will then be housed within an artificial vessel I have already prepared. And then—”
Dottore spread his hands, and his smile widened.
“—you will once again walk the mortal coil.”
There was a popular saying in Morepesok Village that forbade sailing when the new moon rose high in the sky, or when one heard a beautiful tune drifting from the rocky cliffs along the shore; the myth of the siren. Legend held that those who succumbed to the siren’s call would inevitably meet the same fate: their ships wrecked against the rocks, their bodies lost to the waves, and their souls claimed by the sea. The siren’s call was said to be the most beautiful and divine tune humanity had ever heard, for it would be the last thing they ever heard—a small mercy granted by the siren before claiming their victim’s life.
Capitano was not one to believe in myths, even in a world filled with divine beings and powers far beyond mortal understanding. Yet in that very moment, he felt as though he were experiencing the so-called siren’s call himself, from how tempting the offer Dottore had just placed before him.
Reining himself back, Capitano refused to be careless. “…What will happen to Natlan’s Ley Lines if I accept this invitation?” he asked instead. He would not jeopardize the effort and time he had spent laying those countless souls within his heart to rest.
“It will cause a disturbance, of course,” Dottore said immediately, with utmost seriousness in his tone.
Capitano felt his heart fall to his stomach.
Dottore either ignored him or didn’t care enough to let Capitano process the information, as he continued his explanation. “Unfortunately, your immortality curse is etched into your very soul—woven into the core information of your being. Your case was already unique to begin with. You and the Lord of the Night did not exist in a truly mutualistic symbiosis; if anything, it was closer to a parasitic relationship, if you ask me. You possess an essentially unlimited lifespan, having been rejected by the natural cycle of life and death; she benefited from that.
Removing you from this place would disrupt the fragile balance holding this realm together. The Night Kingdom would teeter on the brink of collapse once again. In the worst-case scenario, it could even strip away her life force instead, as every natural matter possesses an inward instinct to replace what it has lost—Ley Lines included.
And since her life force prior to merging with you was already weak to begin with, the Ley Lines would then choose to consume the souls within the Night Kingdom instead, purging them into pure energy. Equivalent exchange, it’s only fair.”
Even without a deep understanding of Ley Line studies, whatever Dottore had just told him spelled nothing but bad news. Everything truly was too good to be true—of course it would carry drastic repercussions.
“I can’t possibly accept that—”
Dottore swiftly raised a finger, cutting him off.
“That is—if I were to take all of you out.”
After delivering his earlier explanation with a serious tone and expression, a small smile now rested on the scientist’s face. Fortunately, not the eerie kind of smile.
“I said I could gather the information necessary to reconstruct you, but that doesn’t mean I must take everything out. To preserve the balance, a portion of you can remain here as this realm’s anchor. Naturally, that means you won’t be reconstructed as your full, complete self. Based on my calculation for a successful reconstruction while also safe for Natlan’s Ley Lines—which you hold so dear—the safe tether limit is seventy by thirty, with thirty percent being left here.”
The small smile now shifted into a smug smirk. Like Dottore is proud of himself for scaring Capitano with the what-ifs.
“I wish you had started the explanation with that.”
“What can I say— I’m merely being thorough, dear Captain. Ever heard of an insurance company? They always start their marketing by presenting the worst possible scenario to sell the solution at a high price. Regrator is an expert at this; that’s how he sells so much through the Northland Bank’s policies.”
This time, the sigh did escape the First Harbinger. He had almost forgotten how Dottore could be… pretty childish.
(Most people will say that Dottore was just being an asshole)
(Others, a more specific group of people, will say that Dottore was just being a brat)
“So, there is a way for me to join the battle while still keeping the Night Kingdom functioning.”
“Yes, but let me warn you: I can only reconstruct you from the information of you that is stored inside the Irminsul. The immortality curse placed upon you by the Ruler of Death was to reject you from entering the Irminsul into the normal life-and-death cycle. You can say that the curse corrupted your information, and I cannot salvage that corrupted information.”
“You mean—”
“Exactly. What I will be reconstructing is you from before the curse.”
Capitano couldn't believe what he just heard. “You can… undo the curse?
“No. This is not erasing the curse,” Dottore shook his head. “Unfortunately, the rules of Teyvat are difficult to override. The curse will remain intact—with the version of you that we leave here.”
“Theoretically, this process is almost identical to how I create my segments. I once had an acute respiratory infection in my youth; it’s an outbreak native to Sumeru. When I create a segment of that specific age, it will still carry the disease, since the illness’s information was already recorded in Irminsul.”
A crackle of Electro stirred the air. White light gathered in the Doctor’s hands, shaping itself into a simple humanoid form, a black tendril coiled tightly around it to signify the illness it carried. Dottore duplicated the figure in his palm, and the tendril duplicated alongside it, still clinging to the newly formed body.
“But if I create a segment from just a day before the age at which I fell ill according to Irminsul—”
Another humanoid construct took shape, this time with the black tendril still curled inward, like a flower bud resting in the figure’s heart. When Dottore duplicated it, the new form bore the same untouched core.
“—I essentially create the same segment of myself of the same age, but without the illness. The illness is still there, but it’s just not on the segment that I made.”
With a flick of his wrist, the light dispersed, the constructs dissolving into nothing. Dottore looked straight at Capitano once more. “This also means you will officially become the first person who is not me to possess a segment of himself. One ‘you’ will be bound here, carrying the immortality curse… and another ‘you’ will be out there, fighting the Heavens. Quite novel, isn’t it?”
The thought of having a segment of himself… Capitano honestly wasn’t sure how to react. Should he feel honoured? Should he feel worried?
“What happens if ‘I’ die after the reconstruction?”
“That one, nothing serious will happen, really. We are merely reusing your information. When a segment dies, its residual data simply flows back into the original you. Inconvenient for me, however, since I’ll have to come all the way back here to reconstruct you again from scratch. Segments are extraordinarily difficult to make, even for me.”
Capitano nodded. He remembered hearing the news of when Dottore erased almost every segment that he had, minus the Omega-build, which turned out to be in negotiation for the Electro Gnosis at that time. It caused such an uproar too, since all the Dottores in Snezhnaya appeared to have dropped dead all at once.
The Tsaritsa had been most pleased with the two Gnoses Dottore brought back. That success alone had earned him enough leverage to request resources to begin creating segments anew. The Tsaritsa approved. Pantalone, on the other hand, had nearly burst a vein from the stress.
“But if you’re asking about the danger of creating a segment itself,” Dottore continued, “then the answer will be different.”
“I assume this is because of your… tinkering with existing information within the Ley Lines?”
“Correct. Creating segments carries inherent risks. Let us frame this discussion with the assumption that Irminsul is nothing more than a galactic-scale computer system. The danger arises from the fact that we created a new individual using the same informational template as another, already-existing human. When I successfully created my first segment, you could say I deliberately induced a causal recursion error within Irminsul itself.”
“Logically speaking, Irminsul should have attempted to merge the excesses of me, marking them as redundant data inside the Ley Lines. However, there exists a noticeable synchronization lag caused by duplicated causal events. It is this ‘lag’ that allows segments to exist in the first place.”
“At present, we are little more than walking time bombs, if you will,” Dottore concluded. “Who can say what will happen to us once the system fully synchronizes and identifies us as anomalies? Irminsul does not ‘permit’ our existence; it merely ‘tolerates’ these errors, waiting for entropy to resolve them and restore balance.”
“…”
Now that he thought about it, it was fortunate Dottore had not been born in Khaenri’ah. The Doctor would easily be the sixth sinner if he ever had the chance. That said, Dottore had never explicitly shown interest in Abyssal power—unlike the Five Sinners themselves.
His silence was mistaken as hesitation, because Dottore then frowned at him.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of that,” the Doctor accused.
“No. But then what is the basis for the seventy–thirty ratio you mentioned earlier? You said it affects both the success of the reconstruction and the safety of Natlan’s Ley Lines.”
“I proposed that ratio because your combat capability must be taken into account. Her Majesty would be… displeased if I brought you back only for you to fold like damp paper at the first clash. Anything below fifty percent reconstruction would leave you incomplete: missing memories, unstable personality structures, perhaps even resulting in a version of you that is entirely unrecognizable. Missing memories are one thing. Missing your combat ability— that is decidedly unacceptable.”
The idea of losing his combat ability settled uneasily in his chest. To be stripped of his combat ability would be to lose more than strength—it would be to lose himself.
“Anything above eighty-six percent, however, introduces long-term risks. Do not forget that we are creating a segment. The original ‘you’ will still remain here. The less we extract, the weaker your segment becomes. The more we extract, the less of you remains behind as the Night Kingdom’s anchor. Which also means, the less of you bearing the brunt of the immortality curse.” The Doctor tilted his head slightly, “You were the one who described that curse is an agony; an erosion of the self. Now imagine only one percent of you left to bear it alone.”
In a roundabout way, it almost sounded as though Dottore were concerned for his well-being—
“Though I must admit, I am curious. If you were to be completely eroded while already merged with the Lord of the Night… would she be corroded in your stead? Or would the contamination spread to the souls residing within the Night Kingdom?”
—or not. Capitano should have known better than to make a (good) assumption about his colleague. Dottore’s actions had always been driven by the pursuit of knowledge, by answers to questions he himself posed. Once one understood that fundamental trait, Dottore became absurdly easy to read.
“…Let us not pursue the answer to that curiosity of yours.”
“A pity.”
“What you’re saying, extracting more is only risky if I were to be consumed by the curse.”
“Precisely.”
Capitano considered that for a moment. An idea appeared in his mind.
“Then, let’s make it ninety-nine to one.”
“…Pardon?”
“Make it ninety-nine to one,” Capitano repeated with the same steadiness, “And you needn’t concern yourself with creating another segment of me. Ninety-nine percent of me, at my prime. I will not fall in battle.”
Dottore fell silent. “…I cannot tell whether that is arrogance speaking, or sheer confidence.”
“Confidence—and respect. I will face my enemies with as much of my true strength as possible. Besides, Her Majesty requires my power, does she not? I am merely offering the optimal solution.” Capitano was almost surprised Dottore had not proposed this idea himself. It sounded plausible enough, right?
“…”
If the Second Harbinger were not hiding behind his metal mask, Capitano might have seen the momentary shock in the scientist’s eyes. Truly a pity, since on the rare occasion Capitano had seen them, they had been the most striking, beautifully vivid shade of crimson.
“Well, that’s a first. Seeing you at a loss for words.”
Dottore opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “…Captain, you intend to leave only one percent of your information behind as the tether and be the brunt end of the curse? You would risk the entire Night Kingdom of Natlan? The very souls you fought so fiercely to protect, even to the point of failing Her Majesty’s orders?”
The First Harbinger merely shrugged, “That one percent of me will endure the corrosion of the curse. I will not allow it to infect the Lord of the Night, nor any soul within the Night Kingdom. That, I swear.”
Probably not the healthiest coping mechanism. But since when had a little suffering ever frightened him?
“You and your sense of honor,” Dottore muttered. “It seems the time you spent rusting here did little to dull it.” He let out a short, incredulous huff before an excited smile crept into his face at the prospect of an extreme experiment in front of him; the chance to test the rules and reasons of Teyvat, once again.
“Very well. Then, let us begin—”
“I am against this.”
A gruff voice interrupted the two Harbingers. For the second time that day, Capitano found himself surprised by the presence of someone he had not expected to see.
“…Guthred.”
His second-in-command. Ironically, yet another ‘doctor’ who was associated with Capitano’s personal life. Guthred had been more of a military physician, though. But there stood his once-comrades, still cladded in the familiar uniform of a Khaenri’ahn soldier, unchanged by time.
“Oh?” Dottore turned fully toward the newly arrived soul, unmistakable interest gleaming in his eyes. “How intriguing. The Captain is the anchor of this space, so it makes sense that he can manifest here. I never expected another soul to possess a sense of self strong enough to do the same. Like captain, like soldier, I suppose.” He paused, before correcting himself, “My mistake—Like commander, like soldier, is that more accurate?”
Was it possible for a concept of soul like Capitano to have migraine? It certainly was.
That made it the third sigh he had let out since awakening to find the Doctor standing before him.
“Give us some space, if you would, Dottore,” Capitano said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was ushering him away.
“I will, I will. Simply offering a cent or two of my thoughts.” Fortunately, Dottore seemed disinclined to further test the First Harbinger’s patience. The blue-haired man stepped back with a light chuckle. “Do enjoy your conversation. We’re in no such hurry.”
Dottore took a single step away, and then his form dissolved into nothingness, seamlessly merging with the white expanse around them.
With the other Harbinger gone, Capitano steeled his heart and turned to face his old comrade.
“Guthred,” he said again, this time meeting those fiery, star-shaped eyes.
A part of Capitano was glad that Guthred had died—albeit not peacefully, since he had died from experimenting on himself. On the silver lining, Guthred didn’t have to bear the same curse as his. Capitano was once the strongest; he prevailed from the horde of the abyssal monster, yet he was rewarded by being cursed by Heaven instead. All the surviving half-blood soldiers had morphed into monsters soon after, while the surviving full-blood Khaenri’ahns soldiers had slowly lost their minds.
Strong and stubborn, yet kind-hearted, Guthred, who was now staring at him with clear disapproval.
“My lord,” Guthred said at last. “You have been fighting for so long. This past five hundred years.” His voice softened. “You deserve this rest.”
The artificial heart embedded in Capitano’s chest throbbed painfully at the plea—the plea to stop. To stop pursuing yet another painful goal, facing against the same, heartless deities who had looked upon suffering souls and, rather than offering salvation, had chosen to doom them instead.
The same anger, which was previously extinguished, burns anew within his hollow heart.
“Perhaps I do,” Capitano replied quietly. “But call it… one last selfish desire. I will embark upon one final, glorious battle—and then I will return here again, victorious, if fate allows.”
The word ‘fate’ tasted bitter on his tongue. But in the end of the day, all he could do was foolishly try to defy the gods. Quite fitting for one of the Fools (The Fatui), after all.
“Besides, it is only right that I repay the benevolence of those who aided me in reaching this point. My ultimate goal has always been this,” He glanced around at the peaceful realm he had created for the lost souls, pride and relief briefly washing over him, before the familiar sense of duty called upon him.
“But I once swore an oath when I served under Her Majesty’s banner. I failed the Tsaritsa’s last command. I would rather settle that debt in success, rather than failure. Just as we once fought for Natlan that accepted us after the Cataclysm, I wish to fight for Her Majesty as well—the one who accepted me when I was lost yet again.”
“My lord…”
His once second-in-command didn’t say anything more, only a bitter acceptance that he couldn’t change his commander’s mind.
Capitano summoned his sword. The familiar weight and biting cold of the ice blade settled into his grasp. He raised it before his face, forming the same oath-bearing gesture once practiced by Khaenri’ahn soldiers.
“I once raised my sword against the Ruler of Death herself. Now, my blade shall be turned toward those who stand even above her. Let Thrain, the Sentinel Knight, rest here—”
With only Guthred as his sole witness, Capitano forged a new oath for his third chance at life.
“—while Il Capitano returns to the battlefield once more.”
Capitano blinked his eyes open. The first thing he recognized was the unfamiliar hum of machinery; it was buzzing low and constant, lingering at the back of your awareness like a white noise. The second thing he recognized was movement; lots of it. There were people around him.
It felt like waking from a long sleep, when consciousness returned before clarity did. Like you were awake, but not really. His memories were fragmented, hazy at best. What remained came only in fleeting visions: red eyes burning in the sky, a bleeding tear split across the firmament.
The third thing he recognized—
Was the familiar voice of someone who had been here all along.
“Welcome back, Captain.”